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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627353">Slowly, and Then All At Once</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eucleia/pseuds/eucleia'>eucleia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eucleia/pseuds/eucleia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and one-shots exploring the dynamic between Fred and Hermione, and how they found each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Changes.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have been fascinated by these two ever since I heard the rumour that they were supposed to be endgame. I mean, the rivalry, the chemistry, the dynamic...it's irresistible.  This is my attempt at writing something I can add to by-the-by, but still publish without worrying about continuity. (I'm working on a longer Fredmione fanfic and I'm hoping this will spur me on to writing it).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She doesn’t realise when it changes, because it starts with small things. Nothing in isolation, until she looks back and realises, <em>oh</em>.</p><p>Arguing with him about the use of Dragonstring until he agrees that she is right and that he probably should not be using it in a potion meant for first years. And then, the disappointment, because the conversation is over just like that, so soon, sooner than she thought it would (sooner than she wanted it to.)</p><p>When he touches her shoulder briefly as he squeezes past, because there is just <em>never</em> enough space in the Burrow’s kitchen, and all the Weasleys are over for the holidays and it’s all they can do to find everyone a seat at the table. Over the next couple weeks, Hermione idly thinks about that touch, the familiarity of it feeling like acceptance.</p><p>Meeting his eyes across the room, sharing an eye-roll and a smile at something absurd Percy had said again. Realising that this was happening more, and more often; it made Hermione feel special.</p><p>When she would catch herself watching him. She avoided the use of the word, even to herself, but Hermione was <strong>staring</strong>: at the way his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, long and light, hiding the bright blue of his gaze; at the way his grin lit up his whole face, the way it pushed everything up and made him look younger and mischievous; at the way his hair looked, sticking to the nape of his neck after a game of quidditch; at the way the muscles beneath his shirt shifted when he carried a heavy box of ‘experiments’ up the stairs.</p><p>And then, catching his eyes, once. A long, lingering look, blue eyes burning, until he realised she’d seen and looked away. She did not know what he had been thinking about, but as she had gone back to her book, face burning, Hermione had realised it, finally.</p><p>She liked him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have this headcanon that when Hermione performs the memory charm on her parents and goes to the Burrow, it's Fred who ends up being the most comfort to her. I don't know how many iterations of this scene I've written already, but it's one of my favourite Fred x Hermione dynamics. Brief warning for mentions of material with darker/depressing implications.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione heard him a second before he swung the door open, the loud 'pop!' of his apparating making her jump and look around for a place to disappear in within the small, cramped room that might have once been someone's bedroom but now housed boxes and old furniture that no one was using anymore. She wiped hastily at her eyes, but not quick enough. When Fred Weasley nudged open the door, arm full of a couple boxes with 'F+G' scribbled on the sides, and greeted her with a surprised "Hermione!", it was obvious that she had been doing nothing <em>but</em> crying in that tiny, dusty room.</p>
<p>"Fred," Hermione said, and hated how stuffy and raw her voice sounded.</p>
<p>Fred stood staring at her for a couple seconds before moving further into the room and depositing his boxes in a barely-free corner. Hermione looked pointedly at the floor, hoping he would just leave her be, and for one moment as he strode back towards the door, she thought that was exactly what he was going to do. She looked up to watch him leave; Fred reached the door, hand on the handle, and hesitated on the threshold before turning to her with a sigh. He turned to face her, hands on his hips, his face twisted in worry tinged with panic.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" he asked after a long moment of her regarding him in surprise and him watching in ever-growing panic.</p>
<p>"It's nothing." The response dropped automatically from her lips, and Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble as she was reminded again of the reason she had snuck away from her friends and found the last room anyone would care to find her in, sequestered right next to the ghoul in the attic.</p>
<p>"Come now, Granger," Fred said. His tone was light despite the careful expression still on his face. "You can't expect me to find you crying your eyes out and just walk away." </p>
<p>"I'm not crying my eyes out," Hermione said, jutting her chin out even as her eyes burned with fresh tears. She blinked rapidly and when that didn't help, she just gave up and looked away, hoping Fred couldn't see. Of all the Weasleys to have found her, she couldn't think of one she would have preferred the least.</p>
<p>She stiffened as she heard him move, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Fred kneel on the floor in front of her, his expression still panicked but determined nevertheless. He reached out a hand and gripped her shoulder, and when she looked at him, his lips loosened into a smile. Smiling always came easy to him, Hermione thought, and for a moment her eyes were arrested on the loose hair that fell into his eyes, and the endless freckles across his nose and cheeks.</p>
<p>"It's them, isn't it?" Fred said quietly, and Hermione ground her teeth and looked away again. When Fred didn't move, she huffed out a sigh and gave a curt nod. Anymore, and Hermione thought she would fall back to where she had been an hour ago. She felt Fred's hand tighten on her shoulder in response.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "Sorry you had to send them away. Sorry—this is happening."</p>
<p>She looked at him, ready to fling all the hurt that had been bottled up inside of her, but when she met his gaze, his eyes were soft and pooling with sympathy. The words died and new ones took their place, ones that she had been avoiding thinking about, ones that had been haunting her nights. They slipped into her mind and stuck in her throat, and Hermione cleared her throat.</p>
<p>"It's just...," she began, and then cleared her throat when her voice caught. "It's just, whe-if I die... I need them to be happy, and safe, and away from all this. It's best for them if they don't remember me.  It's best if I don't have to worry about them." The tears were burning again, and Hermione made an impatient noise and brushed them away angrily. "But if I die...they'll go on living the rest of th-their lives, not knowing they ever <em>had </em>me. Their daught—"</p>
<p>Her last word bit off with a sob, and her vision blurred. Warm arms held her tight and Hermione stiffened. When Fred did not let go, she allowed herself to relax; she gripped the back of his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder, letting herself grieve and be comforted. She smelled the dusky scent of smoke and grass, and when she released the breath she had been holding, she felt Fred tighten his arms around her.</p>
<p>"I never realised," he said into her hair. "I knew it was hard for you but...I never realised." He pulled back and looked at her for a long moment. Almost absent-mindedly, he reached out and pushed back the strands of hair from her face, damp with her tears. Hermione hadn't ever seen an expression this serious on Fred's face before.</p>
<p>"I'll find them," he said, and then licked his lips, nervous. "If anything happens. I'll break the charm. I'll tell them."</p>
<p>Hermione clenched her teeth together and then nodded quickly, once, twice, several times. She would <em>not</em> cry again.</p>
<p>"Thank you," she said.</p>
<p>"No," Fred said. "I'd really rather you didn't."</p>
<p>And although his lips were turned back up into a teasing lilt, Hermione saw the furrow in his brow and the darker shade in his eyes, and she nodded and gripped his hand in hers.</p>
<p>"No thanks, then," she said, and Fred nodded and squeezed her hand.</p>
<p>"That's the spirit," he said. His free hand brushed another lock of hair back, and he loosed a breath. "I should go."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Hermione said, and Fred stepped back, looking around as if surprised how close they had been.</p>
<p>"You coming?" He asked her, stopping once again at the threshold of the room.</p>
<p>Hermione nodded.</p>
<p>"In a minute."</p>
<p>Fred stopped and gazed at her, and Hermione felt herself still and warm and come undone under those eyes. She felt the weight from her shoulders slip a little, settle into a more manageable mess, and almost inadvertently, her lips quirked up. "Promise," she added.</p>
<p>Fred's mouth turned up in a mirroring grin, eyes suddenly sparkling.</p>
<p>"I'll be counting down the seconds, Granger," he said. "Or I'll apparate you down myself."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Baby, It's Cold Outside</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A snowy walk to Hogsmeade.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Heya, Fred.”</p><p>Fred’s eyes widened, and then he smiled as he saw Hermione trundle up behind him, half-buried in her large coat and scarf.</p><p>“Hermione,” he said, and then craned his head around, as if looking for something. “Where are Harry and Ron?”</p><p>“At the castle,” Hermione said. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and she pulled them even closer as she drew level with Fred. She rolled her eyes. “Their game of Wizarding Chess was at a crucial point, they were comfortable enough with the house elves waiting on them, and it was <em>cold</em>.” She sniffed disapprovingly.</p><p>“And what brings you out in this cold?” Fred asked. The road from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade was covered in snow, trampled and packed under the dozens of feet that had transversed it since the morning so that a path was obvious. The wind was sharp and biting today, and Fred wouldn’t have ventured from the castle himself if he could’ve helped it.</p><p>“I need new quills,” Hermione said. She frowned slightly. “No George today?” Seeing Fred without his twin was a sight that was as unfamiliar as Hogwarts without Dumbledore.</p><p>“Not quite,” Fred said. He gestured ahead of him, and Hermione could just about figure out a couple figures in the distance. As if on cue, a shriek carried through the air towards them, and then loud laughter. “I was with George and Angelina, until they decided to have a snowball fight and got, er, carried away.”</p><p>“Hm,” Hermione said. She considered the words for a second, and then smiled. At least, Fred thought she had; her eyes scrunched slightly, but her mouth was quite hidden within the confines of her large and, admittedly, warm and comfy-looking scarf. “I’m glad for the company.”</p><p>“Any day,” Fred said with a mock bow, and Hermione rolled her eyes. The wind blew stronger, and the both of them drew closer, almost closing their eyes against the bite of it. Hermione shuddered and pulled her hands closer to her mouth. She did not blow on her gloved fingers, though, as Fred had expected. Instead, she pressed them closer to her chest, as if to—</p><p>“Don’t tell me,” Fred said, the thought finally clicking into place. “Your flames?”</p><p>Hermione grinned and opened up her palm the slightest bit. “O for Outstanding, Weasley,” she said, slightly pink at hearing the charm being described as hers. “They’re fantastic in this weather, you know.”</p><p>Fred looked at her enviously.</p><p>“I wish I did,” he said, burying his hands deeper in the pockets of his cloak, which was far too insufficient to keep the cold away.</p><p>“Here, we can share,” she said, carefully spilling some of the blue flames into one palm and holding them out to him.</p><p>“Nah, I’ll live,” Fred said, even though his ears and nose were red from the cold. His cloak had grown shorter on him the past year and his boots threadbare, too. He was used to the cold.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Hermione said briskly. She reached forward and slipped her hand in his pocket. “There.”</p><p>The relief was instantaneous; the flames were warm, almost hot, but they did not burn. Instead, they simmered pleasantly, warming Fred more efficiently than a shot of Pepper-Up potion. He flexed his fingers, and then let out a quick breath of relief. He grabbed her hand in his pocket as she tried to extricate it, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.</p><p>“I owe you one.”</p><p>Hermione smiled, but before she could pull her hand fully from Fred’s pocket, a couple students returning to Hogwarts caught sight of them and let out a holler. One of them whistled as the other shouted, “Yeaaaah, Granger!”</p><p>“Honestly!” Hermione said, jerking her hand out of Fred’s pocket and clutching the rest of her flames to her chest again. She scowled, unbothered.</p><p>But as the laughter faded away behind them and they drew closer to Hogsmeade, Fred couldn’t help but dwell on the moment and the implicit <em>what if </em>it conjured in his mind. Hermione’s cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, and without the usual walls of the castle to confine them, their conversation was unhindered, free. And Fred, who had been feeling rather sorry for himself, having been dragged into George’s schemes that morning, realised he was quite satisfied with how the day had turned out.</p><p>So when they approached Scrivenshaft’s Quill shop, and Hermione paused at the threshold meaningfully, as if to say goodbye, Fred just grinned and opened the door for her.</p><p>“After you,” he said, and enjoyed the look of surprise that flitted across her face.</p><p>“I thought you had plans?”</p><p>“If I did, I don’t remember them,” he said breezily, watching her as she stepped inside the store and took a deep breath in, as if to memorise the feel of the store.</p><p>Fred shivered, but not from the cold. The <em>what if</em> faded away. All Fred saw as he looked at Hermione was a certainty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I Think He Knows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, like the Taylor Swift song.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione is supposed to be reading. She is curled up in the very corner couch in the living room, cozy under a throw, a new book in her hands. The fire is burning in the grate, the crackle and pop comforting and peaceful. Everything is in place for the making of an excellent reading spell, but Hermione is distracted. And while years of experience reading at the Burrow have taught her how to tune out the ambient noises of conversation and laughter, the noise is not exactly the problem right now.</p>
<p>Hermione glances over the top of her book to the section of the kitchen that is visible through the doorway. Hermione has been reading since she was old enough to hold a book; she’s used to reading sitting and standing and, yes, walking, too. It is no great effort to pretend that she is reading while her eyes are fixed strictly on the red-haired laughing man sat in the chair directly in her line of view. Periodically, her hand flips a page, marking progress even though Hermione had barely read the first page before Fred’s laughter had drawn her eyes and arrested her gaze. He’s sat at the table with Ginny, Harry, and Ron, hands wrapped around a cold bottle of butterbeer as he teases Ginny about something. He laughs again as she snaps back a response, but Hermione isn’t sure what’s funny because it’s not the words she’s focusing on.</p>
<p>No, her eyes are fixed wholly on Fred, her heart doing funny little jumps every time she finds a new detail that she must have known, but was now noticing anew. The blue of his shirt bringing out the colour of his eyes, making them glint and glimmer as he speaks, even in the low lighting. Every time he lifts his butterbeer up for a drink, the muscle in his forearm flexes and ripples. His fingers wrap tightly around the bottle, and Hermione finds herself flexing her own hand, remembering the warm grip and missing it. When he laughs at a good joke, he laughs with his whole body, tilting his head back and placing his hand on the back of the chair next to him as if to steady himself. So different from when he is alone with her, when it feels like he is laughing at a joke only they understand, a laugh meant for her alone.</p>
<p>They had only been together for less than a year, but Hermione felt the depth of their relationship in her bones. It was in the way she never tired of his jokes, or the way he watched her take off her coat and sink down into the couch at his apartment, eyes pools of warmth and affection. It was the way their eyes sparked with mischief and something more every time they looked at each other, and the way Fred had bought her that necklace with their initials on it, not two months after they had first held hands.</p>
<p>There is a lull in the conversation, and as if he had been waiting for it, Fred turns to glance at her. His eyes widen as they meet hers, already trained on him, and then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. The smile speaks of secrets and late nights spent alone, of hands on backs and whispers against ears. It speaks of lazy afternoons, and an understanding so deep it does not require words anymore. It speaks of forever. Hermione looks back at him, eyes burning and heart afire, feeling his gaze reflect the same. They didn’t need to make promises; every look, every touch, every word was a vow. The thought warms her, and rises to her face as a blush. And though she sees Fred’s smile turn smug as he turns away, Hermione grins. Even in the dim light, she can see the way his neck and ears glow with heat, and she thinks he knows just how she feels about him.</p>
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